The Fall of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon
by CanidSerpent
Summary: Long does he yearn for the days of old, whence he was great, and whence he was unmatched in power and ferocity. Now, merely another draconic soul wandering in the mists of the cruel world he dwells upon. Angst! Blue-Eyes White Dragon fic. Somewhat of a tribute piece as well.


**A/N: **A small piece I wrote as I was reminiscing on one of my favorite duel monsters, heavily based on how useless it has become in advanced decks these days.

However, I feel the ending is quite contrived, but, whenever I have said I though something was horrible, most seem to love it. So, I'll make judgments based upon feedback. Which, I appreciate, even if it is negative, it still helps for the next piece that I write.

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Falling beneath the black and blue sky, his tail and limbs twisted, contorted, and bent, he remembers a time long ago when he was mighty. When he had been a god amongst monsters, unafraid and unmatched by any creature's power except that of the Forbidden One. A time whence he and his brethren had been free to fly as dark shadows in the night, able to terrorize whatever unfortunate beast may have crossed paths with them.

A time when he and his siblings had been the undisputed rulers of monsters, with no worthy champion to usurp their throne.

However, new gods did eventually arise, kicking them from their place in the hierarchy with a brutal swipe of a claw or a savage bite from their cruel mouths. New monsters arose afterwards, new monsters with the power or skill to surpass the once splendorous dragon triplets.

They had become mere cards in a deck; units of war that were disposable, valuable only so long as they remained alive. Not even with new additions to their clan could they best the gods that had replaced them, always smitten down with minimal effort each time they may have tried. No longer could they lead forces into battle as they had only a few short years ago. They had become the soldiers themselves, and like any soldier, forced to endure the trials and death of a soldier that they had been blind to as kings and queens.

Just as his large form crashes into the black earth below, he opens his deep blue eyes, that have now grown watery and have already begun leaking salty tears upon his scales. Allowing him to see the blurred image of the dirt he is about to crash into, as he desperately yearns for the old days again. A time when he was great, and would not have been victim to such a disgusting fate.

The earth takes him graciously, pulling him snugly into the soil as it seals his entrance. Calling for the hungry worms beneath to feed on their freshly delivered meal. He has grown used to the feeling of the earth, and the pain that he endures as his wings and limbs are squished against his body.

Rather, it is the cries and roars of his brethren further beneath that upset him so greatly and cause the streams to flow from his eyes. They were not quite as resigned to their fates as he was. They were too stubborn, and too often did they try to take back their rightful place, only to be swatted back like flies.

They too, have fallen into the jaws of the black earth, wailing as the crimson worms attempt to burrow and bite past the fluorescent white scales that adorn the drakes, but are unable to do so with their meager jaws and tiny bodies. Knowing of the resilience of the dragons' scales, the older annelids wait patiently. Until the old reptiles have grown too weary and weak to put on their fight, and rest in the clutches of the soil with their jaws parted. An invitation to the worms to slither inside and gorge upon their inner flesh.

Above he can hear the shifting earth and unsettling groans of the undead, arising from their graves with a mindless drone slipping from corrosive lips. Unwilling to stay dead and rest in peace, too driven by rage at their murder. Now, only existing to find their killer and murder them with their rotting jaws and feed on their body to sustain their undead life.

How he hates the sight of their filth. Nothing more than leeches of their kingdoms. Trash to be gathered and incinerated in a cataclysmic fire.

He will not allow himself nor his siblings to be reduced to their level. Mere wanderers in the land of the dead, with no purpose to serve but as cannon fodder for the lord of the undead.

And so, with a sudden resolve, he looses as loud a roar as the mud and dirt will allow him to, calling the members of his clan to arms as they have done so many times before after their defeat. Clawing furiously to the top, shaking the worms from their bulky frames and from the eyes they received their names from. Startling the undead denizens from their graves and coffins, forcing them to hide in the shadows, reminding them that not all monsters are so easily squashed and condemned to their deaths.

Rising once again into the blackened skies, scales glimmering under lunar gleam of the moon. Intent on regaining their throne and restoring the order to what it once was. With the dragons ruling once more.


End file.
